


Assorted Marvel Drabbles

by CavannaRose



Series: Assorted Marvel Fics [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short pieces of Marvel stories that weren't long enough to deserve their own posting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter Soldier

Compliance. It was built into his very memories now. A new watchword to colour his whole world view. They wanted a weapon. They wanted his skillset, but the mind behind it all was innately subversive. His motivations were originally at odds with their own. Luckily for HYDRA, changing minds was a particular specialty of Herr Doctor. Not only was he good at it, but he enjoyed it. How many nights did the man once known as James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes sit strapped to his chair, images flashing continuously before his eyes.

HYDRA. Russia. Communist and Nazi propaganda. Axis troops. All of it flashed continuously, set to the beat of his heart, the drumming refrain of compliance echoing around him.

At counterpoint to this were the images of Allied soldiers, American troops, the Tin Hero in his patriotic blue regalia. These images were disrupted by discordant, unpleasant sounds, electrical shocks that made his limbs twitch uncontrollably. He wanted to stop them. Destroy them. Anything to end the torture. The images progressed to case files. He studied this Captain America over a background of unpleasant screeching and torment. Every moment fueled his hatred.

His only solace came in the evenings when the soft refrain of Russian music would drift out, accompanied by a return to images of HYDRA's dream. They would make of the world a better place, and he would be the weapon with which they cut through all that resisted. HYDRA was good. HYDRA was right. That hateful American icon would ruin everything if he was permitted to continue.

He wasn't a person. The Winter Soldier wasn't a person. He was a piece in the elaborate machine, forging a brighter future. He would go where he was told, kill those that wished to stop progress. Efficiently, and without emotion. For the Glory of Mother Russia. For HYDRA.


	2. Foggy Nelson

Foggy Nelson was not a ladies' man. He was not suave, or sophisticated, or charming. Heck, he wasn't even handsome. What Foggy was, in his own estimation, was a good friend. That's where his skillset lay. Adjusting where he sat, a touch uncomfortably, it struck him that he was not being a particularly good friend to Karen right now. She had been amazing, an avenging Valkyrie, a real fighter. He had been an awkward, uncomfortably, and even snappish, potato of a human being. What an idiot.

How often did he let his own self doubt, low self esteem, combined with an odd degree of machismo, put a rift between him and another person? Now Karen, and just when things had been going so well. What was wrong with him? Seriously? Foggy wished he had even a fraction of Matt's ability to talk to women. Even if it only worked on Karen it was worth his very soul and more.

Groaning, he pushed himself back up off of his couch. Maybe if he hurried he could still catch up with her. Apologize. Make things right. Three steps later he was leaning against the wall, breath ragged, the stitches in his shoulder bleeding. Maybe... Maybe he'd just wait for her to get back instead...


	3. Foggy Nelson/Matt Murdock/Karen Page

As his two friends settled about the morning routine, Foggy found a seat at the table, cup of warm coffee in his hand. Though Matt was no where near as good at the brewing of it as Karen, it was certainly palatable, unlike Foggy's own attempts to wrangle the machine into producing something that didn't taste like paint thinner. He let out an appreciative sound, swiping a powdery doughnut as his eyes ran over the documents Matt had laid in front of him. He really wished more folks would take his lawyer friend's condition into consideration, but he didn't really mind being the eyes of their operation, as long as Murdock was willing to be the brains. "Looks like we've gotten the go ahead to check those taxis at the company, I'm impressed, I didn't think they would put it through that fast. Must have heard our reputation and put the fear of God into them." He teased, offering Karen a comforting wink.


	4. Rogue/Professor Xavier

She'd been summoned to Xavier's office like a naughty schoolchild, not a development she was overly fond of. The occasional X-Man was fairly certain she knew what the professor wished to discuss, and disinterested was the politest way to phrase her level of desire to partake in this conversation. Still, no matter how old she was, or how much she'd changed, when Xavier called, she answered. Once an X-Man, always an X-Man.

He responded promptly to her knock on the door, cordially inviting her to sit once she was within the comfortable confines of his office."Anna Marie-"

"-Rogue." She cut him off immediately. Might as well set the tone of this meeting right away.

Though his face showed disappointment, the professor started again. "Rogue, then. I assume you know why I have asked you here today?" At her curt nod of assent, he continued. The frown lines on his forehead deepened, the only visible sign that her behaving like a petulant child was affecting him in any way. "Perhaps if you'd just let me inside your mind once more, together we could find a solution."

The southern gal shook her head, an attempt at an apologetic smile on her face. It was one thing to let Xavier into her head... before. Before she'd had the ability to touch and feel with out injuring someone. Before she had intimate, womanly secrets. The experiences she'd had while her powers were under control, they were the kind of thing you didn't want the father figure in your life accidentally stumbling upon, and for all intents and purposes, the professor held that role in her mind.

"Look professor, I know that I've been ornery as a three-legged coonhound lately, but this is somethin' I gotta figger for myself. I can't come runnin' to you for band-aids every time I get all busted up on the insides. I just know the answer is somewhere inside my own head, and all due respect I feel like I'm best off learnin' how to manage it all on my lonesome."

With a heavy sigh, Xavier wheeled around the desk, resting a hand on Rogue's sleeve. "I respect your desire for independence, and your commitment to seeking your own solution for your... problem. Just, promise me that you will allow me to try again if your current tack proves inconclusive? I worry about you, and we all hate to see you so out of sorts."

She shifted awkwardly at the genuine concern in the older man's voice, trying to ease the sudden flash of guilt across her conscience by being a touch flippant. "Aw, shucks professor. Y'all don't gotta worry about little old me. I'm content as a cowboy at a cattle drive."

Though seemingly unconvinced, Xavier allowed Rogue to make her goodbyes and beat a hasty retreat. She paused for a moment down the hall, back against the wall as she marshaled her emotions. The pity in everyone's eyes was getting too much to deal with. She needed to solve this problem, fast.


	5. Jessica Jones/Kilgrave

She shushed him. What a strange situation to be in; calming the man who spent so much time destroying her life. Still, she didn't want him worsening his injuries by straining himself. "Rest, Kilgrave. You took a pretty heavy beating, and I'm not sure how good I'll be at patching you up this time." Then he just... stopped. Stopped everything. No breath. No more groans of pain. Jess couldn't explain the jolt of fear that ran through her, fingers unconsciously reaching for the sweat-slick hair clinging to his forehead. He'd suffered more injury than most could survive, and perhaps this time his number was finally up. Just as she came to that conclusion, his chest contracted and breath rushed back into him. Admittedly, Jessica was relieved. It was one thing to hunt him down, another to fight him, but to have him die in her arms from wounds taken elsewhere? That somehow shook her to the core.

He struggled against her hold as the air refilled his lungs, blood dribbling from the sides of his mouth as she clutched him close, holding him down. Whatever had restarted Kilgrave's heart and lungs, she wasn't concerned. What mattered was the flailing about could cause him further injury. Something she wasn't ready for, yet. Once more she made soothing sounds, this time allowing herself to tuck the damp strands of hair away from his face. She knew that the moment couldn't last, the man in her arms would soon be the domineering monster she knew, but for now she treated him much as she would a wounded animal.

"Careful. Careful. You'll disrupt the bandages. They're basically holding you together right now." Jessica allowed her eyes to meet his, let him see the concern tinged with distrust hiding there. She wasn't sure that she was doing the right thing, all that she knew was she couldn't leave anyone, even him, to bleed to death in this filthy tenement building. Whatever he had done in the past didn't matter, he was still a bloody human being.


	6. Rogue/Gambit

That chuckle... if he only knew half the things it did to her insides... Aw hell, this was Remy LeBeau, if he knew what that Cajun rumble did to her insides he'd find some way to weaponize it. Those deadly eyes of his crawled up her body like a caress. He'd always been able to make her feel his touch from a room away. Rogue hadn't a clue how he managed that, but it had been one of the many infuriating talents the man possessed that drew her in. When he finally locked gazes with hers, she felt the tension she was barely containing amp up to a siren's curse. Damn her powers, damn them straight to the fiery pits of hell she was surely bound for. She wanted to launch herself across the distance between them, wanted to stroke his face and kiss his stubble and sputter apologies she had no right to give.

But she couldn't do any of those things. That damnable man, with all his sensual appeal, she couldn't touch him. Couldn't touch anyone. So she did what she had always done, hiding behind bluster and bravado. No one could know what went on in her head, not even the Professor who she worked so hard to keep out of her mind. Unconsciously, she took a step back as he stepped towards her, keeping the distance between them. So many folks saw her as stand-offish, but she was simply afraid. Afraid of hurting someone else with her horrific abilities. All that fear was nearly drowning her again, since Wonder Man, since losing her grasp on those talents. It was so much worse, she was so worried she'd go for the casual touch, and leave someone she cared about twitching on the floor, or worse. Best to be alone, best not to care.

"Aw, you know me, shugah. Ain't nothin' in the world that can keep Rogue down." She tried to keep her tone light-hearted, flippant, dismissive. Anna Marie didn't want any of the pain and longing she was fighting to leak through into her words, that damn Cajun was far too observant, and if he saw through her she just might fall apart. "Keepin' busy with this an' that while I get things sussed."


	7. Psylocke/Angel

Angel had seen Betsy in a moment of weakness, something the abrasive fighter was generally inclined to get irrational about. After such an incident, she would normally avoid the other individual to the point of rudeness, but this chance meeting had calmed some of her frantic nerves. She quelled the anxiety building within her, allowing herself to smile again. He had saved her life, and her own personal issues should not be permitted to cloud their interactions. Elizabeth Braddock had once been a cheerful, social creature, perhaps she only needed to tap that side of her personality once more. Joking with the winged man could only be a positive start.

She considered his offer of a short flight, though to be honest she hoped it was simply a turn of phrase for the hero. She much preferred to keep her feet on the ground, master her own destiny and choose her own path. Perhaps not every instant required the weight of the world, not every moment defined her character, but she had gotten used to solitude and solemnity, and had since become remarkably prone to extremes. It wasn't the most attractive attribute, certainly, but despite that Angel seemed intent on drawing her into his world.

"I suppose an impressive wingspan like your own does pose a few technical issues that most wouldn't really consider." She allowed, stepping briskly behind him and running her fingernails along the radius of his wing. The feathers were softer than expected, and since he couldn't see her face, she allowed a softness to enter her expression that she so rarely shared with the world since the Incident that had changed her so drastically. She rarely allowed herself this level of closeness to man or beast, and just running her fingers through the marginal coverts soothed the carefully controlled violence in her soul.

"Is that better? Or is it closer to the scapulars?" She queried, hoping that with at least this small gesture, she could ease the discomfort of her winged companion.


	8. Foggy Nelson/Karen Page

The faint smell of bacon frying penetrated his awareness, pulling Foggy from the blackness that had taken over his mind and drawing him forward. He pried open one eye, then the next, casting a careful look around him. He was on his couch, sprawled there in his comfortable weekend lounge wear. Was it Saturday already? He couldn't remember. The real question was, who was in his kitchen?

Pushing himself off the distressed leather of his couch, he padded into the kitchen, slippers scuffing across the linoleum floor. Pausing in the doorway, he had to rub his eyes, having a hard time believing what he saw. Wrapped in his fuzzy house coat, Karen was hovering over the stove, humming something soft and slow as she flipped the bacon in the pan. He just took in the sight, the late morning sun glinting off the strawberry highlights in her hair, the alabaster glow of her skin, with just that faint hint of warmth and colour beneath the surface, the crooked way the one corner of her lip raised higher than the other when she smiled to herself, really, truly smiled.

She hadn't noticed him yet, so he stood there, contemplating her different smiles. The tight press of lips that didn't reach her eyes when she was trying to make him or Matt feel better. The soft, crooked smile of happiness she wore now, when she was pleased with herself and the world... he just didn't see enough of that one. The wide eyed, startled smile when he managed to make her laugh, as if she was surprised that mirth could escape her lips. There was very little about her that he didn't notice.

Just then she turned, catching sight of him, and her crooked, upturned lips spread into his favourite smile, her 'I'm so happy Foggy is here' smile. You could just see the barest hint of her teeth, the corner of her baby blues crinkling adorably. He stepped forward, holding open his arms, testing the waters. Karen carefully set the bacon aside, stepping into his embrace with a soft sigh that warmed him right to his toes. Wrapping her in a hug, he ran his hands over his back, enjoying her warmth.

A loud sound broke the magical moment, and the woman in his arms changed, just a little. She crew colder, her muscles tense. Something warm and sticky coated his hands and Foggy stepped back, staring in horror as she crumpled to the ground. There was blood, so much blood. The apartment shifted, vertigo sweeping over him in a wave. Shadows leapt around the room, cast by the gloomy glow of streetlights outside the window. Death and smoke filled the air. Hadn't it just been morning?

Foggy gasped, sitting up in a rush, straining his injured shoulder. As he gasped for air, the pain helped clear the cobwebs from his head. His apartment was, indeed, dark. He was still wearing his stained suit from a long day at work. Running a trembling hand through his hair, he let out a breath. It was just a dream. Just a dream...


	9. Rogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fic idea for Rogue that I never took anywhere.

The funny thing about being involved in time travel paradoxes, is that even if the world around you changed, it messed with your memories. It was hard enough being in her head most days, but now? Now she didn't know what was her, what was the her before, and what was the people she had touched in the past-future then-now whatever? It was too complex for a high school dropout to comprehend. She remembered the 90s. Nickelodeon and dayglo scrunchies. But was that what faced her now as she stared out across her parent's front lawn? How could she tell?  
  
The world had shifted, as had her own circumstances. Of all the horrible memories though, she had two of the first boy she kissed. Two faces, two traumatic screams. It was almost more than she could bear. Gloved fingers tugged at the long sleeve of her shirt, considering her many options. There was really only a few places she could go, in this situation... wasn't there? She let a small smile cross her face, and picked up her bag.  
  
The bus to Westchester County, New York, was a grueling one. Marie was rumpled, tired and not in the best of tempers. She'd napped intermittently, the barrage of conflicting memories waking her in fits and starts. She was disoriented when she awoke, blinking against the sounds of air breaks and the driver calling their location. With a sigh, the travel-weary girl disembarked, her parcels clutched to her chest.  
  
The walk to the Xavier's school was long and hot, and by the time she arrived at the door the curls of her white-streaked hair were plastered to her forehead with sweat. Exhausted, she raised her hand and knocked, weaker than she had intended or hoped, but it had been a very long time since she had to travel in such a fashion. She painted a strained smile on her face, afraid that whomever answered the door would not know her... or even worse... would.The funny thing about being involved in time travel paradoxes, is that even if the world around you changed, it messed with your memories. It was hard enough being in her head most days, but now? Now she didn't know what was her, what was the her before, and what was the people she had touched in the past-future then-now whatever? It was too complex for a high school dropout to comprehend. She remembered the 90s. Nickelodeon and dayglo scrunchies. But was that what faced her now as she stared out across her parent's front lawn? How could she tell?  
  
The world had shifted, as had her own circumstances. Of all the horrible memories though, she had two of the first boy she kissed. Two faces, two traumatic screams. It was almost more than she could bear. Gloved fingers tugged at the long sleeve of her shirt, considering her many options. There was really only a few places she could go, in this situation... wasn't there? She let a small smile cross her face, and picked up her bag.  
  
The bus to Westchester County, New York, was a grueling one. Marie was rumpled, tired and not in the best of tempers. She'd napped intermittently, the barrage of conflicting memories waking her in fits and starts. She was disoriented when she awoke, blinking against the sounds of air breaks and the driver calling their location. With a sigh, the travel-weary girl disembarked, her parcels clutched to her chest.  
  
The walk to the Xavier's school was long and hot, and by the time she arrived at the door the curls of her white-streaked hair were plastered to her forehead with sweat. Exhausted, she raised her hand and knocked, weaker than she had intended or hoped, but it had been a very long time since she had to travel in such a fashion. She painted a strained smile on her face, afraid that whomever answered the door would not know her... or even worse... would.


	10. The Spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Shortly after Natasha and Peter met she started calling him ‘Baby Spider’ in Russian. Peter looked it up after a while, and countered by calling her 'Mama Spider’ also in Russian. The two became very close. When Bucky first heard them using the terms his eyes went wide and he began counting years. Natasha whacked him upside the head and told him promptly they were just terms of endearment they were not actually related.

Tony kept bringing that young boy around. He was a fairly sweet child, polite, excitable... though he did have a tendency to babble on about the most inane topics. It was rather adorable actually. He was just so... young. Mentally, physically. She had never been that young, but she didn’t resent him it. It was something precious to hold on to, to cherish and protect. It was no fault of the young man that he had been changed. 

***

“ребенок паук, come spar with me. I shall show you some moves that benefit a smaller fighter.” She smiled at the boy. When it was over he was bruised, but smiling broadly.

***

“ребенок паук, if you do not start cleaning up this webbing, Clint is going to give you his disappointed dad speech. Trust me when I say it is not fun.”

“... He gave you the disappointed dad speech?”

Natasha shuffles awkwardly. “He is a very serious man.”

***

Peter had finally managed to find a phonetic translator to decipher her pet name for him. The smile on his face was so big that Aunt May was sure he must have met a girl or something, but he was very, very evasive about it. Still, her boy was so happy, what could she do but let it go?

***

“ребенок паук - “

“Yes Паук-мать?” Natasha hesitated, and then laughed, giving the grinning young troublemaker a shove.

“There’s a hole in the arm of your costume. You should mend it before it becomes a problem.”

***

Bucky wasn’t sure why he had let Steve talk him into coming to the the Tower. It was always full of noise, and he was sure that no one besides Steve really trusted him. He settled into a chair that was far too soft to be functional, half-dozing while his heart-brother went off to answer one of Wanda’s questions.

“ребенок паук, your stance is all wrong.”

“Oh come on,  Паук-мать, what does it matter, I have super strength!”

Bucky choked, sitting upright and drawing attention to himself as his eyes flew between the two, the fingers on his metal arm ticking off the years between the pair. The boy was confused, but Natasha snorted, tossing a cushion at the super soldier’s head. 

“Do not be a fool, зимний солдат, they are terms of endearment. He is not my actual son. Idiot.” The three make awkward eye contact for a minute, and then break down into laughter.

Bucky walks over to the lad, shoving him over. “Super strength does not make you immune to harm. Listen to the Widow, she will teach you to be better than you ever thought possible.” With that quietly spoken sentence, he heads off down the hall in search of Steve. This Tower was always a madhouse.


	11. Avengers

Breakfast, it was the most important meal of the day. Steve Rogers mentally mulled over what he would have that morning as he showered and brushed his teeth. Eggs. It was definitely an eggs kind of day. Striding through Avengers Tower he waved to Stark who was yelling at Jarvis in the bathroom because some new invention had tried to shave his head not his chin. In the kitchen he found Thor sitting at the breakfast bar, an empty Poptart box in front of him, and the last poptart in his mouth. Steve shook his head.

"Honestly Thor, you know those have absolutely no nutrition in them. You'll be tired by lunch time."

Over by the coffee maker Clint grunted. "Leave him alone Mother Sunshine."

Steve looked over to see Clint had replaced the coffee carafe with his mug and was glaring the machine into submission as it slowly filled his cup. Shrugging, used to the morning grumps, he opened the fridge.... Empty. There wasn't a single thing left in the fridge. "Guys... Where's the eggs? Heck, where's all the food?"

"Umm..." Steve looked over to the couch where Natasha and Bruce had clearly spent the night, the menu screen for some obscure sci-fi movie on repeat as the scattered remains of various food wrappers decorated the table and floor in front of them. "We might have had a movie night last night..."

Finally Tony stumbled in, a little rumpled but unscathed. "Coffee?" He queried, and Clint waved in the direction of the carafe-less coffeemaker that was streaming liquid life onto the floor in a hot, brown puddle.

"All right guys, this is ENOUGH!" Steve raised his voice just enough for emphasis, striding across the kitchen to turn off the coffeepot. Everyone into the van, we're going to the grocery store. You have five minutes. If you don't come, you can get your own food." Insubordinate grumbles echoed around him, but as a general mass they all headed down to Stark's garage.

Once they got to the grocery store everyone seemed to perk up. Thor volunteered to push the "large metal basket on wheels", which thankfully kept him in check. Clint led Thor down the produce aisles and over to the butchers counter, picking sensible, healthy options. Steve was actually impressed as Clint patiently explained to Thor how you can tell if an avocado is ripe or not.

A crashing noise can be heard an aisle over, and Steve heads over to examine. He finds Bruce apologizing profusely to a staff member as Natasha sheepishly grins. "Well they shouldn't have put the red ones at the bottom of the pile. Everyone knows they're the best."

"Really Nat? Does the colour of your Laffy Taffy really necessitate this kind of disaster?"

Just then Tony's voice can be heard from a few aisles down, he is loudly arguing with someone about the absurdity of the price of a whiskey that's only ten years old. Sighing Steve pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, and then heads over to deal with that while Bruce continues to apologize for Nat's disaster.

After sorting Stark out Steve goes looking for Clint and Thor again, only to discover they have procured not only a second cart, but a third that they are filling with yet more food. "Okay guys... don't you think this is maybe enough? I think we should probably just check out and go back to the Tower now..."

The generally genial genetically-altered super soldier herds his teammates towards the checkout, unable to prevent Nat from filling the remaining space of the third cart with Gummy Bears and Hot Tamales. Finally, amidst a plethora of apologies to the checkout clerk, they get everything run through and a protesting Stark swipes his credit card.

Later at the Tower, all the groceries stowed away and the other Avengers off doing their own things, Steve breathes a sigh of relief. That was the last time he was taking everyone to the grocery store. He opens the fridge so that he can finally have his eggs....

Those idiots didn't grab eggs.


End file.
